


(Keep On) Running With Knives

by Pretendthisisfiction (HelloIWriteFanfic)



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Band, Angst, Character Death, Cultish behavior, Demonic Possession, Enemies to Lovers, Gen, Horror, I do be reading stephen king tho, Protective Frank, Supernatural - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:35:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23450305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelloIWriteFanfic/pseuds/Pretendthisisfiction
Summary: No matter how far you go the past will always find you. Gerard learns this the hard way.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	(Keep On) Running With Knives

_“Death twitches my ear; 'Live,' he says... 'I'm coming.” ― Virgil._

Washington state autumns carried a different kind of cold. In Jersey, the change of seasons happened like a snap of fingers. One day the heat in the air would be so still and so heavy that you could hardly breathe, but then the next day upon inhaling- the breeze coming in from across the water would hit the back of your throat with that unmistakable hit of oncoming ice.

In Washington, September had arrived slowly- the muggy warmth of August falling away into a cold that settled into the air like a fog. Things felt quieter now too, which was hard for an already quiet town. These days though, Gerard felt like he could hear every tiny noise on the evening walks back from the bookshop towards his house after closing up. He would usually only start the walk around 8 PM but already it felt like the town had emptied completely except for himself.

Purple shadows of streetlamps shone down on the cracked sidewalk, his own shadow stretching long against them. He needed a haircut. 

He missed home.

It made sense that he hadn’t fully realized it until just now, things had been too busy. He had left his job, moved across the country to a town he had never even heard of, and started a new job already.

He had never been particularly bad with change, but he supposes this is a pretty extreme case.

The walk home wasn’t far at least. He rubs his thumb against the ridges of his house key as he walks up the creaking steps to his screen door. He knows he should probably get a car, really. The walk from work is harmless now but once the cold sets in he knows things will be different. And he’s doing better, he doesn’t need to do things that make his own life harder anymore.

The inside of the house isn’t much.It’s a tiny press box painted with peeling white paint. The whole place is maybe 800 square feet on a good day. The tiles around the bathtub are cracked and the wood floors dip as if built for a skate park. But it was cheap, and available last minute.

He was trying very hard not to regret this.

He should call his mom, he knows this. She worries, and she’s back in Newark alone now. Sure, a hairstylist in New Jersey is never short of friends, but she’s always been protective, they’ve always somewhat needed each other. .

Tonight though, it feels almost wrong to think of breaking the quiet with a phone call. As if the tiny town’s stillness was something sacred to be preserved.

He takes the few steps from the front door and falls into the twin mattress in the corner instead. He had pushed the worn out thing into the living room during the first week in the house, opting to use the actual bedroom for his painting instead. Having a bed in his work space never went well, he liked sleeping too much. He hadn’t managed to get the cable installed yet, but he had boxes of VHS tapes and a small square TV that had been in the house when he moved in. He also got major discounts at the bookshop he was working at too, so he wasn’t bored exactly. Maybe just lonely.

But that was something that he couldn't just blame on the town like everything else. He had been lonely since forever, for so long it felt like another limb at this point.

It wasn’t a new realization that there was something wrong with Gerard.

The move could be considered a breakdown, he knows that. He’s’ not stupid, maybe just a little bad about denial. But at least he doesn’t lie to himself. Home had gotten too big, too loud, people in his life had become too involved….

He shakes his head as if to rid himself from the thoughts, black hair falling into his eyes. He’s exhausted, he always is. He does well enough for himself by pulling his hoodie off over his head and stepping out of his jeans before he falls into bed again. Sometimes he can’t be bothered to get undressed before sleeping, but it’s the little things. Small efforts,or at least that’s what his therapist had said to him when he was a kid.

He doesn't remember falling asleep but the next morning is much of the same. Gerard had never been the kind of person who liked working all that much, but the bookshop was warm and comfortable, and working a lot added some kind of structure to his week which helped the days from slipping into a blur. That, and there was Ray Toro, who was the closest person Gerard really had to a friend here. Maybe it was slightly pathetic that the one person he considered a friend was also his boss, but so it goes.

Ray hadn’t grown up in Washington either. He was Californian in a real way, but had moved up to Seattle for some band. The band had fizzled, and Seattle is an expensive city to live in alone, especially if you’re there without a reason, but Ray hadn’t been done with the state.

He had moved to town and taken over the bookshop from an old man who had been this close to selling the thing altogether. Ray was that kind of guy, the kind of person who shows up at just the right time, ready to make things better.

It made Gerard genuinely want to be a good employee. Ray had been running the shop by himself for years before Gerard came to town. It had been working fine, but Ray has a fiance now, and a whole life established that he’d like the time to be a part of occasionally.

So Gerard does his best not to zone out when a customer starts rambling out a description of a long-lost sci-fi novel that Gerard has never heard of and knows they definitely don’t have in the shop, he doesn’t hyper-fixate on organizing the books by size or color because he knows Ray wants them grouped by series only. He showers, because apparently people don’t want to buy things from a guy who looks half-dead.

Little things.

Ray has already done most of the opening by the time Gerard walks into the shop. To be fair, it’s not much to do as a job, so Gerard knows the other man hasn’t been there long, but Ray still looks tired when Gerard finds him. The other man has his hair pulled back, and is wearing a neat grey sweater, all attempts made to look nice despite being unable to cover the red-rimmed, tired look in his eyes.

“Morning.” Gerard says, startling Ray out of his daze before the other man stands up from the shelf he had been stocking to smile back at Gerard.

“Morning, man. How’s it going?”

“Not bad.” Gerard shrugs, his eyes flicking to the door of the shop he just walked through. Truthfully, things weren’t that bad. He had become so used to lying about that that he surprised himself every time he realized he wasn’t. “Are you okay though? You look a bit…” He trails of, gesturing towards his own face. “How I usually do, I guess.”

Ray laughs at that, shrugging a little before taking the few strides over back to the small checkout counter. “I’m fine, I’m okay.” He starts, smiling reassuringly and pausing for a moment before speaking again. “Things are just stressful now, I guess. Christa is having trouble with her degree and I want to help her by being there more...But I just don’t know how to help.”

Gerard wasn’t going to pretend to know the ins and outs of a committed relationship. He had barely dated in high school, just a girl or two who he’d spend a few weeks with before inevitably scaring them away. College had had a few one night stands, but nothing lasting, or anything that he could remember past the haze of liquor covering that whole time period in his memory.

“I mean, maybe it’s doing enough by her just knowing that you’re there, right? Having someone that you know you can talk to can be everything.” He says, fiddling with a pen from the plastic cup on the counter as he speaks.

Ray smiles at him kind of strangely then, glancing at Gerard sideways as he takes his own place behind that counter. “Do you have someone then? Somebody you know you can talk to?’

Gerard laughs a little at that, staring down at his scuffed white Converse as he shakes his head. “Ah, no, not exactly. I’m not really great at the whole people thing.”

Ray hums a little at that, moving away from the counter and picking up his jacket that had been thrown over one of the mauve overstuffed chairs by the front window.

“There’s a show tonight, just a local band that’s been around for a while, but it might be good for the both of us to get out and relax a little, yeah?”

Gerard’s first and second instinct is to say no. He has a warm bed back home, and movies, paints and coffee...But Ray is the only person this side of the country bothering to pay any mind to him at all, and after everything the other man has done for Gerard, he kind of owes him. Plus, it’s music. Music at least is something he can understand.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll go.” He gives Ray his best smile in response to the man breaking out in a grin in front of him. “Fuckin’ sick, man! This’ll be great. I’ll meet you here at close alright? I’ve gotta go to the city for some errands today but you can call me if you need help back here until then.”

Gerard nods, glancing around at the quiet shop and then to the empty street outside. He seriously doubted he’d be needing any help.

The day passed quietly, only interrupted by a few tourists passing through on their way down the Pacific Coast Highway and a small gaggle of local high schoolers coming in after class let out to study.

Ray texted him around 8 to start closing up early, which Gerard was thankful for even if he couldn’t get home just yet. He had looked up the address of the house Ray had sent him that the band was playing in and it wasn’t too far from the shop. Gerard could stay through a set to be there for Ray and then could make his way home with no problem.

It was maybe a little unfortunate that he wouldn’t be able to clean up before they left. Glancing into the small mirror in the shop’s restroom he could see pretty clearly that his hair had seen better days and his eyes had dark circles under them that never seemed to disappear these days. Had he been able to go home beforehand though he doubts that the result would be any different.

Ray text him from outside just as Gerard is flicking off the lights, not that he could’ve failed to notice the bright red pickup truck parked out front, unmistakably Ray’s. The drive is quiet, but Ray is singing along to a Sabbath song on the radio and smiling to himself. He already looks better than he did this morning. Maybe there's a chance Ray needs a friend too.

They park on the street, cars lining the sides of the road in front of them guiding them up the street and towards a house not too dissimilar to Gerard’s in upkeep. It’s a ramshackle white two-story at the top of a small hill, it’s front lawn scattered with tall dark Washington pines and overgrown grass damp with the misty rain that never quite seemed to leave the air here. There’s already people gathered outside, red solo cups in hand and Gerard is beginning to gather what kind of show this is.

“You didn’t tell me that this was like….A _party_ party.” He whispers to Ray, his eyes widening slightly as they walk closer to the house and Gerard can hear the din of even more voices inside.

Ray looks worried for a second, maybe he didn’t realize the extent of Gerard’s social anxiety, he smiles again though and places his hand on Gerard’s shoulder before pushing them through the front door. “It’ll be okay, man.” He says. “These are good people, and we need a good time.”

Gerard shrugs, and Ray guides them slowly towards the kitchen, stopping every moment or so to wrap people that Gerard has never seen into warm hugs and laugh greetings along with them. At some point, Gerard has a cup of his own shoved into his hand, filled with something that smells like Jack and Coke but could really be anything. The whole scene wasn’t dissimilar to the house shows in Jersey he’d go to before...Maybe it had just been too long, maybe his feeling of out-of-placeness would melt away into that familiarity soon.

Luckily they had arrived a bit late, so the band was already hooking up their gear in their cleared out circle in the living room. Gerard couldn’t see very well, a wall of people already forming around the band, friends ready to see them play. Gerard can make out a taller man with a beard with a bass in his hand, but almost nothing else. Ray is, at this point, pretty much compromised as far as escape plans go. He’s standing with a circle of people, practically glowing with pride as he talks about how Christa is doing in school.

Gerard channels everything he learned back at those Jersey punk shows back home and finds himself a safe space on the opposite wall from where the band are playing, his hazel eyes scanning the faces around him as he clutched his cup protectively to his chest. His mother’s voice rings in his head, telling him to do better, to put himself out there….

The band’s thrumming opening chord gives him an excuse to stop listening.

They come in hard and fast, not saying anything before launching into a first song that sounds nothing short of murderous. It’s hardcore, but different than anything Gerard had heard back home, it sets the hairs on the back of his neck on edge as the singer forces out a demonic wail.

Gerard can’t see the singer, he’s never been particularly tall and the crowd is now pushing against each other, jumping and slamming into each other, laughing and spilling every undefinable liquid imaginable against the dark wood floors.

The first song ends and the singer screams something else into the mic that eggs on the crowd even more before launching into the next song. Gerard gets pushed forward, and although he’s fairly sure that everyone in the crowd is well-meaning, he can feel panic start to rise in his chest when he’s being sent spinning again. It’s not a big room, but the bodies are pressed so tight together and moving so fast that it feels like an ocean of sweat-slick bodies around him. And maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for the feral, raw anger coming in waves from the band. He’s lost his drink to the floor, and his head is starting to swim before he can feel a sharp pain burst across his face and realizes that somebody’s elbow has just caught him in the mouth. The impact sends him reeling backwards, and maybe people catch sight of the warm blood he can already feel dripping from his lip, because it’s as if the red seas part for him. He’s finally able to escape the crowd of people, his shoulder slamming hard against a wood-paneled wall near a staircase.

There’s no rational decision that guides him up. It’s only the pounding in his chest telling him that he needs to be away away away. That, and the fact that even he knows bleeding all over somebody’s house and not trying to clean up is pretty shitty.

His vision is skewed, and the hallway at the top of the stairs is dim. Yellow light from a single bare bulb casting shadows around him as he starts flinging doors open in search of the bathroom. Everything is still impossibly loud as the band works their way through the set. He swings open the door of a closet, and then a small bedroom. His hand rests on the chipped brass doorknob of another room before it actually flings open towards him and he’s met face to face with a pair of dark almond eyes and a shock of pink hair.

“Uh.” Gerard says, eloquently.

There’s silence for a few beats. .

“You’re bleeding.” The other man says, gesturing mildly to his mouth. “Gross.”

Gerard shrugs, the other guy was probably right. “I couldn’t find the bathroom.”

The guy looks Gerard up and down. He’s older, but not by much, skinny, and strangely dressed in a white button up and black slacks, with a pink and neon green striped tie now loosened around his neck. “Come in here.” he says. “We’ll clean you up.”

Gerard isn’t exactly thrilled at the idea of any more human contact, but he supposes this is his best option currently if he doesn’t want Ray to gain the reputation of bringing around the freak who runs around a house party covered in blood.

Gerard nods, and the man circles his hand around Gerard’s wrist, pulling him into the room. It’s a larger space than he expected, still dimly lit like everywhere else in the house, but there’s people too, a circle of maybe ten or so all sitting around the floor, or on the dingy couch pushed against the corner.

It’s then that he feels the shift of energy.

He always describes it as the first moment you realize you’re about to get sick, or the moment you start to trip on LSD. It’s that first moment when you realize that there is something just slightly off inside of you, but you can’t place exactly where. You just know.

Gerard knows music, he knows New Jersey, and he knows this feeling.

“I need to go.” He says quickly, quietly, already turning back towards the door he just came through, but the man’s hand is still on his wrist and he grips tighter, shaking his head.

“Nah, man.” He says. “Just sit down, okay? We can’t let you go back out there with all that shit on your face.” He pulls Gerard forward, and then pushes him down by his shoulder. Gerard submits to the pressure and falls cross-legged to the floor, sandwiched between a green-haired girl and boy who looks somewhat ill himself, both of which are staring directly at him.

Gerard can feel it getting worse.

His vision is swimming again, and suddenly Gerard has to wonder if this was what was happening just earlier in the crowd, if the surroundings had just been making it feel like something else.

Something normal.

Nobody here was making any move to help him clean the blood.

“I’m Jimmy.” The man from the door said, folding himself like Gerard on the floor. He’s smiling, and his teeth are large and bright white, he moves his hand to rest it on the thigh of a red-headed woman next to him. “We were all just sitting down to play a game, okay?”

Gerard’s head is throbbing, and he feels like he’s breathing through a straw. He knows this he knows this heknowsthis.

He nods.

The people around him shift slightly, and Gerard blinks for what feels like a half-second, but could be hours. When he opens his eyes he meets Jimmy’s own dark ones, the other man is still smiling.

There’s a board in front of them on the floor. It doesn’t look unlike one from any cheap high school horror flick, but Gerard could feel it. His skin pulling his body towards it like a rope being pulled taut. His heart is in his throat as Jimmy raises the plachette from the board to his own eye, staring at Gerard through the tiny hole.

“Do you have anyone you want to call, Gerard?” Jimmy whispers, and it’s in that moment that Gerard realizes that he can no longer hear the music downstairs. In the same moment he remembers that he never told the other man his name.

“I- no...no.” He mutters, his eyes gluing themselves to the board in front of him. His tongue feels weighted, unable to conjure the proper words that could possibly get him out of here.

“We need to hold hands.” The red-headed woman beside Jimmy says. Her voice is commanding, and the people scattered around the room immediately comply, the circle around the board tightening even more. Gerard feels his neighbors reaching for his hands, but his limbs feel like dead waits, unable to make himself pull away.

“Not him.” Jimmy says sharply. The hands immediately fall away and for a second Gerard thinks that he might be able to get out of this. He can get Ray to drive him home and get back into bed and pretend tomorrow as if this hadn’t followed him across the country.

But Jimmy reaches across the board and takes Gerard’s hands in his own, squeezing for a split second before pressing Gerard’s hands to the planchette at the center of the board.

It hits like nothing he’s felt since….

It’s white hot fire across his skin, a wire-thin buzzing in his ears that gives way into something louder, something with more substance. As if a curtain had been dropped, the faces surrounding him are gone. He can’t tell if he’s still sitting or standing, he can’t discern anything because all he can see are flashes.

The basement of his house in Jersey.

His mother, leaning across to the passenger seat to cover his eyes as a child when they drove past a bad car accident.

Pale hands washing blood away against the white porcelain of an old sink.

Graveyards and houses and churches and schools, faces he knows and some he doesn’t, memories so real they feel tangible and scenes that he knows he’s never laid eyes on himself.

_Him_

It’s a sinking feeling when he realizes where this is all leading him. He has to get out, he has to get out, hehastogetout. The flashing has stilled, giving away to only the image of _that_ day, of _him_ , and Gerard can feel the weight of it crushing against his chest as if it were all happening again.

_His_ eyes open in a flash of pale hazel, clearer than is ever natural. _His_ mouth opens in a cruel smile as _he_ stares up at Gerard. 

_"Can you hear your heartbeat, Gee?”_

Gerard drops.

The visions fizzle out, Gerard feels his ears pop and he knows more than anything that he is going to be sick, here in this weird house, with these strange people, unable to just get up and fucking leave because he always waits until it’s too late with this...Thing.

He retches, his body curling forward as his arms wrap protectively around his chest. His eyes finally open and he can make out the same wood floor as before. He needs Ray, he needs anyone, he needs to go home.

He finally stops vomiting, and a quick swipe of his hand over his mouth reveals dark, clotted drying blood and sick the color of whiskey. All too familiar reminders that what had just happened was real.

“I think you should probably go.”

A quiet voice cuts through the silence and Gerard’s neck snaps up, causing his vision to dip again before focusing. Dark eyes, fixed onto his own ones like a razor. Dark brown hair cut grown out and shaggy, a small frame but not in a way that implied weakness…

The man moves forward fast and fluid on his knees, pushing himself towards Gerard as Gerard himself frantically moves back on his hands until he feels his back hit the wall behind him.

The man smiles a little as soon as Gerard realizes he was cornered against the wall, before reaching forward slowly, silently, with a tattooed hand, pressing his thumb against the cut on Gerard’s lip.

He pulls away as Gerard let’s out a small hiss of pain, the man’s thumb stained red with blood. He seemed transfixed as he stares at the skin, and for a moment the air felt so still, stiller than life ever should be.

“I think you should go right now.”

Gerard leaves.

**Author's Note:**

> Been using my quarantime to reacquaint myself with my old bands. MCR still fuck so here have this. Please god comment


End file.
